


It's Time

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:44:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2783822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm going home to the place where I belong."<br/>One year post-513</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Time

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my LJ in 2009

                                                          

                                                                                                           **PART ONE**  
                                                                                                              CH. I  
  
 **I sit lying in wait for a chance to regain what I have lost. Waiting for your choice to go astray, but for now I am the sad shell of a man who once was. I feel as though a part of me has died deep inside. Sitting alone, for my life as I know it, was shattered when you left.** J. Main  
  
After gathering his possessions from the airport security, Justin headed toward the nearest flight information screen. _On Time._ He breathed a sigh of relief and began the marathon hike to the gate.   
  
Not scheduled to depart for an hour, he settled into the uncomfortable plastic seat and locked his gaze on the wall-mounted clock, willing it to speed up. He blinked in annoyance when the digital display lazily changed from 9:29a.m. to 9:30a.m., a royal _fuck you_ to his consternation at the snail-like movement. When he conceded that he couldn't intimidate the clock by anger, his interest shifted to the passengers in the departure lounge. Under normal circumstances, his mind would wander in an imaginative freefall, creating fanciful stories for the rowdy family across from him, the wealthy couple on his right, or the lone traveler on his left. His pencil would scratch furiously on the pad, eager to capture reality with illusion.  
  
But this wasn’t a normal circumstance and he had no desire to sketch. All he wanted was to get on the fucking plane. Fidgeting in his chair, he decided that airports were man’s earthly purgatory. Everyone was always _waiting._ His tolerance for noise having peaked, the constant blare of flight announcements grated on his nerves like sandpaper. As throngs of excited vacationers and weary businessmen rushed past, he wondered how it was possible to feel so alone among so many.                                                    
                                                                                            
_This flight will change everything_. An undeniable fact. How it would change was another matter. The heart of the matter. The nuts and bolts of what was to be. Or not. He was jumping off the cliff and risking everything. Would it be enough for Brian to catch him?   
                                                                                                      * * * *  

                    “Hello?” The heavy weight of silence on the line had been deafening. But it was his silence. He would recognize      
                     the sound anywhere. “Brian? Shit! Don’t hang up! Please!” There was a sudden whoosh of air.                           

                    “How did you know it was me?”

                    “Every time the phone rings, I think, hope, it’s you. I guess this was my lucky night. I, I miss you." He hated that  
                     his voice wavered, that he sounded so _weak_. Brian was in every nook and cranny of his shoebox apartment as  
                     he was in every corner and crevice of his soul.

                     Brian would never know, no one would ever know how much it hurt—a dangerous, deadly hurt that had become        
                     unbearable. It gnawed at pieces of him during the day and ripped them off at night until, he feared, Justin Taylor      
                     would cease to exist and a different person would emerge from the implosion. His physical shell would be a mere  
                     host to this stranger, created out of the shattered ruins of his former self.

_                                                      “Can you help me? I’m so scared that I’ll never get put back together.”©R.Thomas _

           _At least try_ had been the mantra on everyone’s lips. Let them try, he would think bitterly. See how easy it was to  
                     paint masterpieces that showcased his “amazing” talent as doors slammed and rejections accumulated. Let them  
                     be inspired listening to sheets of angry rain drumming at the windows. With no guarantees of survival or success,  
                     the possibility of failure, of a bottomless descent into nothingness was a tightening noose around his neck.  
  
                     The nights were the worst, particularly in the beginning—the long and terrible nights when he was so utterly alone,  
                     terrified he would never make it, personally or professionally. He would lay in bed, smoking a cigarette, and have  
                     conversations with the shadows on his ceiling and walls. The familiar shapes kept him company during those dark  
                     times when he feared he was losing his mind and worried when or if he found it again, would it be the same one  
                     he originally lost.

                                                                        [](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/kinfic2/21159744/1973/1973_original.png)

                             _“Phantom faces at the windows, phantom shadows on the floor. There’s a pain that goes on and on.” ©Schoenberg_  
                                                                                                      * * * *

                     Brian inwardly cursed at the sharp intake of breath. It would be only minutes before Justin’s “allergies” kicked in.  
                     He wasn't surprised. He had to swallow against a thickness in his own throat. _Bad fucking idea, Kinney._  
  
                    “I have to go. Forget I called.” He flung the phone on the sofa and slumped into the cushioned leather. He should  
                     have left well enough alone and not allowed his resolve to weaken. The raw agony of the whispered “I miss you"  
                     impaled his heart with unerring accuracy.  
  
                     They saw each other frequently the first month and infrequently the second, both having reached the same unspoken     
                     conclusion. The pain of leaving overshadowed the pleasure of arriving. Despite his self-imposed exile, however,  
                     he couldn't get the artist out of his head. Not for lack of trying. He continued to dig a trench of denial, but it was  
                     an exercise in futility. The emptiness was always present, a constant reminder of what was replaced with a legacy  
                     of what wasn't.  
  
                     Not only was Indiscriminate fucking and getting wasted night after night to prove he was still the invincible Brian  
                     Kinney getting old, it was starting to feel pathetic, even to him. He’d be temporarily sidetracked but when the  
                     distraction disappeared, the hollow ache kept him up more nights than he cared to admit. When he could sleep,  
                     he'd often bolt up drenched in sweat, unable to sense nothing more than shadowy images at the far edge of his  
                     subconscious. The dreams he did remember were potent—not blazing epiphanies but a gradual crystallization of  
                     his innermost desires.  
  
                     He finally understood. He had known for years what he wanted and who he wanted. The bizarre notion that he  
                     could have someone who cared and still be the supercilious fuck everyone loved to hate didn’t seem so repulsive           
                     any more. Unfortunately, he never admitted or accepted it until it was too late.

**[](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/kinfic2/21159744/1348/1348_original.png)**

** “As the arrow passeth through the heart, while the warrier knew not that it was coming, so shall his life be taken away before he knoweth that he hath it.”  ** ©Akhenaton   
                                                                                                     # # #                                                                                                                

                                                                                                     CH. II

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Continental Airlines Flight 2221 with non-stop service from Newark to Pittsburgh. We will begin boarding momentarily. Please have your boarding pass and ID in hand. Thank you."

His reverie rudely interrupted by the generic message, Justin forced an eye open and peeked through slitted lids. The security staff was preparing to open the gate and some passengers were already in line. Disregarding the announcement, he burrowed further into his chair, reflecting on the past year of his life, revisiting how and why he was now at the airport to go home.

                                                   [](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/kinfic2/21159744/2248/2248_original.png)

                      The days and nights in New York had blurred into a seamless passage of time. He settled into his apartment,  
                      touched base with the business contacts on his list and even made new connections on his own. And his desire  
                      to paint, his _need_ to paint returned with a vengeance, turning him inside out with passion.              

                      On an incredible high, he feverishly sketched and painted to a creative zenith. But as he finished each piece, the  
                      inevitable low would cruelly shove him off his summit, leaving him isolated and frightened that maybe New York  
                      wasn't the right place for him at that particular time and as a result, he was losing the one person who meant  
                      the world to him.

                      Although no longer a starry-eyed seventeen year old, he never doubted they would end up together. But the  
                      whirlpool of changes in his life confused him and he wanted to run. The dilemma was which way? To or from?                         

_“I’m moving through some changes. One road to loneliness. It’s always the same._ _One road to happiness. It’s calling your name.”_ _©R,A._

                      Could he really imagine a future without him?

                      When he gave it serious thought, he wanted to vomit. But an unintentional side effect from their time apart was  
                      that now he could peripherally explore the subject with more logic than emotion. He never dreamed that would  
                      happen.            

                      Could he even consider the possibility?            

                      A million lifetimes ago, he told his prick of a father that he loved Brian more than anything else in his life. And  
                      love him he did body and soul. He taught himself a new language, _Kinneyspeak,_ to crack the Kinney Code, learning  
                      to read between the lines, to decipher the meaning behind the words, to fill in the blanks with what wasn’t said. He  
                      adjusted so comfortably to the rhythm of the man, he could gauge his mood by the tone of his voice or the look in  
                      his eye. Accustomed to his warmth in bed, he knew every intimate inch of his body, craved the exhilaration of their  
                      sex and basked in the tenderness of his touch. They were perfection.     

                      Could he honestly bear to lose that?       

                      He wasn’t so lovesick to think love lasted forever, and he didn’t need promises of happily ever after. What he needed  
                      was reassurance. He knew he’d never get the first. The jury was out on the second. Was he willing to risk everything      
                      that mattered to him because of a few favorable reviews by pompous art critics? Was he willing to throw it all away  
                      because he sold a few paintings? More importantly, was he willing to accept his success on the outside while he slowly  
                      died on the inside? Anxiety and uncertainty tormented him with endless questions for which he had no answer, the  
                      worst torture of all. He had longed for a sign to point him in the right direction.

                      Positive the key was in Brian’s unexpected, terse phone call, he hoped he hadn’t misinterpreted the despair or misread  
                      the silence because of wishful thinking. They were different people now, changed by circumstances and events, some  
                      out of their control, some because of it. And sometimes truths turned into lies and memories were destroyed by sober  
                      objectivity. Life's harsh reality.  
                                                                                                     * * * *

"This is the final boarding call for Continental Flight 2221 from Newark to Pittsburgh. All passengers please proceed to the gate."

The last boarding announcement penetrated through his haze. He looked around in confusion, scrambled to his feet and grabbed his backpack, searching for his ticket. With a sheepish grin, he handed over his boarding pass and ID. “I guess I sort of fell asleep.”

“No problem.” She looked at his driver’s license. “Mr. Taylor.” Her eyes crinkled as she returned the documents. “Actually, I wondered if you were even on this flight or if you changed your mind and decided not to go to Pittsburgh.”

His raised eyebrow prompted a smile. “Trust me, you can’t imagine what we see.” She motioned him toward the plane’s entrance. “Have a nice flight, Mr. Taylor.”

He crossed the threshold, squinting as a ray of sunshine spilled through the airport’s glass walls, and prayed he wasn’t making another mistake, that this really _was_ the final call, the end of a long and troubling journey.

        _“The long and winding road that leads to your door will never disappear. It always leads me here, leads me to your door.”_ _©Lennon/McCartney_

                                                                                                    ~ ~ ~

                                                                                                **PART TWO**

                                                                                                    CH. I

** Destiny is how we play the hand we’re each dealt by fate. But whether that destiny is fulfilled or not depends in part on how the person chooses to respond to fate and whether he or she is willing to accept responsibility for and courageously pursue that destiny. ** S.Diamond

Grateful yet apprehensive the flight was early, Justin squirmed in his seat, gazing out the window with his nose pressed against the glass. The plane’s graceful descent ended with a thump and a screech of tires, the reverse thrust screaming in his ear as the brakes jerked him forward against the seat belt. When it came to a complete stop at the gate, people jockeyed for position in the aisles, ready to sprint at the sound of the starting gun, the opening of the exit door. Unfortunately for him, the sprint was more of a torturous shuffle, one that fueled his annoyance for the human race.

He weaved through the narrow exit tunnel and elbowed his way toward the baggage claim area to stake out a prime location. Arms folded across his chest, he scanned each bag with narrow eyes, cursing at the inefficiency of a system that dared delay his luggage. The staccato tapping of his foot and impatient exhales sent a clear message to the growing number of passengers that it would be in their best interest not to invade his personal space. He huffed a sigh when he spotted his motley duo and roughly hauled them off the carousel, glowering at anyone unlucky enough to be in his way. Navigating through the crowded airport with the skill of a race car driver, he secured a place in line for a cab, waiting yet again. Such a waste of time, so endless—just like the past year in New York.  
                                                                                                     * * * *                                            
 _                                         “You know I’m a dreamer. I had to run away high, so I wouldn’t come home low.”  _ _ ©M.Crue _

He gave the address to the driver with a slight hitch in his voice and sank into the vinyl cushions, physically and emotionally exhausted. An unexpected rain slowed the drive, giving him extra time to prepare for the meeting that would determine his future. He hoped the pelting raindrops and murky sky weren’t a conspired omen of what was to come. Anxiety twisted his stomach in knots as he started to question his decision not to tell Brian he was coming home.

                                                                                   [](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/kinfic2/21159744/4338/4338_original.png)

It made perfect sense on those endless nights when his mind diabolically refused to shut down and taunted him with memories. It also made perfect sense on the noisy nights when he tried to drown out the recurring wail of police sirens and raucous arguments through paper thin walls. Now? He wasn’t sure. But he _was_ certain that he didn’t want to be talked out of it.

Everyone said the relationship wasn’t healthy. He should find someone his own age. Give up and cut his losses. He’d be better off without him. When logic prevailed, he couldn’t argue. Except—he didn’t want to give him up. He couldn’t. He also didn’t want to hear the reasons, the excuses, why he shouldn’t come back, why he shouldn’t _want_ to come back, particularly from Brian.

Brian wouldn’t understand because he couldn’t. And he couldn’t because he was still confused, even after all this time, about their relationship. And he was confused because he was still afraid of his feelings. And he was afraid because he was still insecure where Justin was concerned. The quintessential domino effect, a vicious circle that started and ended with him and one that would have to be broken by him as well.  
                                                                                                      # # #

                                                                                                      CH. II

**                                                                     “To be well dressed is a little like being in love.”  ** O. Cassini

                                                                                                [](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/kinfic2/21159744/3606/3606_original.png)

To the untrained eye, the striking man in the camel cashmere coat with the Gucci briefcase was the standard by which all advertising executives should be judged. The coat, much like the man himself, was dramatic, and the briefcase had enough understated luxury to impress those easily impressed by names. The epitome of style and good taste, Brian wore it well, his physical attributes equally matched by confidence and shrewd business sense. He thrived on staying ahead of the curve, on making the right decisions, at least professionally.

_“Every guy would love to be you. You’re everyone’s favorite guy. Everyone’s awed by you. And it’s not very hard to see why.”_ _©M,R,A_

With a “screw you” approach to life—take me on my terms or not at all _—_ he was a formidable adversary, a man who could play well with others when necessary but who preferred to call the shots from his own rule book. He worked hard and played hard, expecting the same level of commitment from his employees and the same level of enthusiasm from his sexual partners.

On this particular Friday morning, too cheerfully sunny for his taste, he sneaked into his office without being noticed and closed the door to discourage any interruptions. Despite his personal turmoil, he had an advertising agency to run. The intense concentration necessary to oversee Kinnetik provided the perfect outlet to direct his self-pity and anger-fueled energy somewhere other than himself. Just ask those who worked for him.

He hung his coat on the wooden hanger, removed a few pieces of lint and eyed himself in the full-length mirror—Prada black silk suit, powder blue shirt elegantly cuffed with gold links, and Stefano Ricci tie. He grunted his approval. On a lesser man, the outrageously expensive ensemble would have shouted _see how hard I’m trying to impress._ On him, its understated elegance whispered _my terms._

                                                                                            
_* * * *_  
  **If you think you know me, think again. If you think you hear me, listen harder. If you think you see me, look closer, For I am an illusion of smoke and mirrors. **

He stared at his image. Granted, his hair was longer and styled differently, but the person looking back at him seemed anxious, with a little sadness thrown in for good measure. He barely recognized him. What happened to the man with the swagger and the attitude? Would he ever get him back?

“Will the real Brian Kinney please stand up?” he murmured, straightening his tie. “Who the fuck are you? I liked the old you. Where the fuck did that bastard go? Life was a lot simpler with him, less complicated _._ ”

_“I can see you’re new to this. You don’t know the rules. You’re just another one in a long line of fools.”_ _©A.Lifeson_

He slumped in his chair and made a mental note to hit the gym in the morning, no matter what time his evening ended. He could always wring out more time if necessary. With a couple of hours sleep and a little help from his medicinal friends, he could easily make it through the next day and night. He pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off an early morning headache and scanned the messages and mail, recognizing Cynthia’s handiwork in the artful arrangement of folders on his desk. He couldn’t run his office without her, and she never missed an opportunity to remind him. More importantly, he considered her a friend, valued her judgment and trusted her implicitly, assured that she would never divulge anything said or seen in confidence. And she had seen and heard plenty.

She breezed in with half a knock. “Did you honestly think you could slink in without being seen?”

“Of course not. I knew your nose would sniff me out.”

“Meaning what exactly? Care to explain yourself?”

“Do I ever?”

“No,” she agreed. “But I thought I’d ask anyway. By the way, in case no one’s told you, you look like shit.”

The hazel eyes shimmered their annoyance. “That’s why I keep you around. You’re so good for my ego.”

“Hey, I call’em as I see’em, Mr. Bossman. Had a good teacher.”

When silence met her sarcasm, she impulsively decided to risk life, limb and job. Steeled for battle, David challenged Goliath. “Brian, it’s been a year. How long are you going to keep this up, torturing yourself because of your stupid Kinney Code of Ethics? Either call him or move on. Don’t you think you should....”

He shifted his attention to the mountain of paperwork in a vain attempt to tune her out. The well-meaning concern did nothing to fill the emptiness or dull the sorrow that had plagued him since Justin left.

_“So you decide if you still want to play this game. The price to you for this is nothing will ever be the same.”_ _©A.Lifeson_

“No, I fucking don’t! And neither should you!” He slammed a fist on the desk, the force scattering pens and pencils across the room. He didn’t need sympathy or platitudes or advice to reinforce what he already knew—he was pathetic. When he noticed her troubled expression, a sign that more words churned beneath the surface, he glared and couldn’t keep the sting out of his voice. “Now, if it’s not too much trouble, can we move on to more important matters?” He shuffled the papers on his desk to give his shaking hands something to do. _You plan on alienating everyone in your life, Kinney?_

Unflappable throughout the chaos, she almost spoke again but instead left without a word. She had barely closed the door when a bitter _fuck_ and another crash rang through the hall. How much longer could he keep up the pretense?

_“Just like Pagliacci did, I try to keep my surface hid. Smiling in the crowd, in a lonely room I cry the tears of a clown.”_ _©Robinson_  
                                                                                                     # # #                                                                          

                                                                                                    CH. III

** It is quite the fool who makes a promise he can’t keep, a promise made before he goes to sleep.  
                                                 For in the morning, when he wakes, he will realize it was all a big mistake. **

The shrill alarm penetrated Brian’s sleep, mocking his foolhardy promise from the day before to hit the gym. He forced one eye open, tempted to wreak vengeful havoc on the contraption, until reality pushed through with visions of yesterday’s mirrored reflection. He dragged himself out of bed for a quick shower to wash away the previous night’s grime and slugged a few hefty gulps of guava juice. Good as new. Almost.

                                                                                               [](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/kinfic2/21159744/4648/4648_original.png)

Loathe as he was to admit it, he _did_ feel the tentacles of time pulling him kicking and screaming from one year to the next. Even more distressing, the shadows of his past selves were always on the sidelines, ridiculing his efforts. Not only couldn’t he escape from himself, it was increasingly difficult to live _with_ himself. There were options, of course—all possible, but none probable, regardless how many scenarios he conjured up.

The drive to the gym was fast and furious, peppered with curses to make a truck driver blush as memories bombarded his senses with familiar scents, touches and sounds—a 3-D movie of his life on rewind. Needing to blow off steam before working it off, he parked a few blocks away and walked the rest of the distance, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. He smirked when the neon sign came into view. He had to give Emmett credit. Despite his continued affection for Drew Boyd, he made an uncharacteristically levelheaded decision to give the former quarterback time and space to fan his inner fairy flame. While Emmett’s blazed loud and proud, Drew’s flickered, depending on his latest crisis of spirit or the latest item in the gossip columns. During one of their frequent accidentally-on-purpose meetings, Emmett mentioned the rundown condition of the local gym to Drew who said he was looking for a business investment. The result of their brainstorming was _BOYD’S BOYZ_ , an upscale gym and financial success for both of them, thanks to an innovative advertising campaign by Kinnetik.

He worked out until his skin glistened with sweat. Disturbed by the lack of color in his skin tone, he impulsively decided to use the tanning bed. It had been a routine necessary indulgence, but lately.... He paused before getting in and inspected his nude body, courtesy of the mirrored walls. Regardless of the angle, his glossy nakedness was flawless—ass taut and firm, legs long and lean. A muscular back, smoothly toned torso, and well-developed arms rounded out the picture. He gave a smug smile. There wasn’t a plastic surgeon on the planet who could improve the image.

                                                             [](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/kinfic2/21159744/3931/3931_original.jpg)

A fifteen minute visit to the steam room was next, followed by whacking off in a hot and soapy shower. He rested his head on the tile as streams of pulsing water washed away an unfulfilling orgasm. He hated what he had become. He had spent his whole life cultivating control and this past year, he never felt more out of control. But he couldn’t change the script, couldn’t rewrite a second draft. The words and plot had already played out, the story complete. Why then, couldn’t he let go, swallow the pain, and move on. He turned off the water, the silence in his ears daring him to answer. Only when he was leaving, did he offer his confession. _Because I’m not that strong, especially about you._                                                  

                                                  **None of your past experiences prepared you for this consequence.** **Piller/Berman**                                                  

                                                                                                   # # #                                                                     

                                                                                                  CH. IV

_“And now you’re trembling on a rocky ledge. Nothing’s what you thought it would be.”_ _©Rush_

“Get a move on, will ya? I don’t have all day.” The driver’s gruff voice pierced his concentration.

“What?” Immersed in thought, Justin didn’t realize the taxi had arrived at the loft. With less traffic on a Saturday, the ride from the airport was shorter than usual, even with the rain. Panic stricken, he didn’t rush to get out. Ignoring the scowls from the front seat, he pulled out a handful of wrinkled bills from his jacket, counting in between hesitant glances at the red brick building.

                                                                                   [](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/kinfic2/21159744/4471/4471_original.png)

“Look, kid, are you going or staying?”

He shivered as the words skated across his skin in an icy déjà vu. _Shut the door. Are you coming or going? Or coming and then going? Or coming and staying? I want you to always remember this, so no matter where you are, I’ll always be there._ How fucking prophetic. Brian Kinney sees all, knows all, fucks all.

“Well? What’s it gonna be?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry. Here.” He handed over the crumpled wad and scrambled out of the cab. Fighting the urge to climb back in, he dragged his bags from the trunk and stood on the sidewalk, unable to move. This had to be one of the most idiotic decisions he ever made, right up there with all of his other idiotic decisions. Blinking raindrops from his lashes, he lumbered toward the entrance and jiggled the doorknob. When it turned on the first try, he breathed a relieved sigh and wiped his sweaty palm on his jeans.

To buy time, he trudged up the steps instead of taking the elevator. Standing in front of the loft door, he prayed for inspiration to infuse him with wordy brilliance. What would he say? It couldn’t be the tried and true. What could he anticipate in response? It wouldn’t be the expected. The standard in this situation wasn’t the norm with them, never was. _Old cliches need not apply._ Not here, not with Brian. His chest tightened, each breath more anxious and labored than the one before _  
_

_“The faster I’m breathing, the further I’m sinking. My mouth is dry. It feels like it’s wartime.”_ _©P.J.Harvey_

One more deep inhale, one more forceful exhale—he had to do this now before he lost his nerve—then a tentative knock. Suspended in that limbo of time experienced only by those who anxiously wait, his skin chilled and his heart thudded. He ridiculously half-hoped he wasn’t home and analytically half-wondered why he never considered the possibility. Even worse, he never considered that Brian might have, that someone else could have....

The lock clicked. And he froze. It was all he could do not to hurtle back down the stairs. His eyes squeezed shut as the past six years flash forwarded through his head. They flew open when the metal groaned and squeaked out a greeting.

“ _Justin!_ The unexpected sunshine at my door on a rainy afternoon.”  
                                                                                                     ~~~

                                                                                                **PART THREE**

                                                                                                      CH. I

                        JUSTIN’S POV:

                        Oh, God! What the fuck am I doing here? I should have called. I should have told him I was coming. What the hell  
                        was I thinking? Obviously, nothing because I don’t have a fucking brain! No wonder he pushed me to New York.  
                        I made a mess of everything. I should have— Fuck!

                        BRIAN’S POV:

                        I fell asleep! Like a decrepit old queen, I fucking fell asleep after the gym with my clothes on! I must be in worse  
                        shape than I thought. Brian Kinney has left the building, folks. In his place is the new and definitely not improved  
                        version. I wasn’t expecting a knock at my door on a Saturday afternoon. I had already fucked anyone worth fucking.  
                        Those I hadn’t were comatose or pathetic, like yours truly.

                        Mel and Lindz were a week away from moving back, coming to their senses as the self-induced utopian fog lifted.  
                        The Wicked Bitch of the North realized, better late than never, that you don’t pick up and move to another country  
                        with two kids and without a fucking plan, even if it is our friendly northern neighbor.

                        Mikey was too busy competing for Stepford Homemaker of the Year to waste his time with me, much to his mother’s  
                        happiness. Emmett’s meetings with Drew about the expansion of _BOYD’S BOYZ_ were more frequent, but I’m pretty  
                        sure the only expanding had to do with their dicks. Theodore was balls deep in the projected numbers for Kinnetik,  
                        and Deb, despite Carl’s rants, had picked up extra shifts at the diner to pitch in for their new house.

                        There was no one left.

**  A cold wind blows and touches my heart, a fleeting echo of the past. Fluttering through the canyons of my loneliness, its whispered question skirts across the jagged edges of my despair. “Is there no one else?”**  
                                                                                                       * * * *

_                                                                 “You’re not a dream. You’re not an angel. You’re a man.” _ _ ©B.S.Marie _

Standing at the door in a wrinkled black shirt and half-opened jeans, Brian was convinced he was dreaming. He’d dreamed scenes like this before and all of them ended the same. He would wake up in a pool of disappointed sweat, stripped of the emotional coldness he relied on, weighed down by a crushing sadness at the inescapable truth. Justin was gone. Heavy-eyed with sleep, he struggled to accept the reality of his vision, needing a blink to achieve what had always been second nature—an unreadable expression. He had perfected the sleight of eye technique over the years and was an expert at the illusion. Or so he thought.                                                                                                 

Justin knew he had caught him off guard when the hazel eyes flickered before the curtain fell.

                          After all this time, after everything we’ve been through, he can’t let go. He disappears inside himself, making it  
                          impossible to reach him. So many times, I’d be standing next to him and still feel alone.

                          Still waters run deeper than the deepest ocean with Brian. I figured out pretty quickly that his bullshit was a sham.  
                          I noticed it in the little things—the way his brow would crease when he grabbed his lower lip between his teeth,  
                          the way his tone would become more relaxed after we fucked late at night. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to  
                          realize that a whirlpool of bad voodoo swirled beneath the ice.

                          Talk about a high risk, high maintenance relationship. A person had to be either stupid or naive or both to dip  
                          a toe into the churning water, to risk being sucked in. Did I mention said person also had to be hopelessly and  
                          helplessly in love?

                          I don’t know if the last one is an advantage or a disadvantage, but it does give me insight. I see surprise and  
                          wariness, not anger or frustration. And _something else,_ something dark and intense that turns golden flecks  
                          into burnished shards of copper and makes me want to leap into his lap and beg him to fuck my brains out.        

He had vowed to stay in control, to project an aura of maturity and ignore any emotion that threatened to reduce him to a blubbering idiot. Ten seconds—it took a mere ten seconds to regress to his insecure, horny as hell, seventeen year old self. After all these years, his reaction was shamefully and intensely physical. Angry or sad, he couldn’t deny the unique pang of longing. He started to crumble, molecules collapsing at the sheer closeness of the man. He bizarrely wondered if, in the event of his hypothetical demise, the official cause would be reported as ‘death by a deadly weapon: Brian Kinney.’ He tried to speak but his tongue wouldn’t move. Biding his time, he sneaked a glimpse into the loft.

“There’s no one else here, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

He didn’t care that Brian could see his surprise and relief. “I thought, I thought you might have moved on, that you had forgotten....” The words sounded like a badly written novel. He shut up. If he said anything else, it was sure to be the wrong thing. The dense silence filled him with dread. His heart ached—for their past and their future. The present? Still up for grabs.

Brian stared with a mix of incredulity and puzzlement. “You mean out of sight, out of mind?” He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and cleared his throat. “I’ve never— No, I haven’t forgotten.”       

_“And I’ve tried to forget you, but the light of your eyes still shines. You shine like an angel, a spirit that won’t let me go.”_ _©J.Secada_  
                                                                                                                                                            
In true Kinney fashion, he recovered from his emotive slip in record time, delivering his next words in an icy monotone. “Not that you’re not a welcome sight, but I thought we agreed not to have contact with each other.”

“Maybe _you_ did.” The accusation sparked Justin’s eyes to an electric shade of blue. His bitterness laid bare the emptiness of the past year.

With storm clouds of unasked questions brewing, Brian debated the wisdom of shutting the door and downing a bottle of Beam. Decision made, he spun around and sauntered into the loft like a man without a care in the world. “I’m not discussing this out here.”

Justin’s body hadn’t caught up with his mind and for one heart-stopping moment, he thought Brian was sending him away. But he breathed a sigh of relief when the retreating figure called out, “Do you need an engraved invitation?” Like _Alice in Wonderland_ down the rabbit hole, he hesitantly crossed the threshold.

                          I'm leaving the bags in the hall just in case. I don’t know if he saw them. If he didn’t, I can make a quick getaway  
                          if things go shit side up, maybe not embarrass myself too much. If he did, I don’t want to seem pushy, like _Drum_  
                          roll, please! Here I am. I’m back! Well, I do but that’s beside the point. I also don’t want him to feel obligated  
                          because I stupidly showed up unannounced.

                          That’s part of the problem. He always feels obligated where I’m concerned. I wish he didn’t. I wish he would do  
                          things because he wants to, not because he feels he has to. So much for everyone’s opinion that Brian Kinney  
                          doesn’t give a shit. They don’t know anything about him, but they’re always very happy to take whatever they  
                          guilt him into giving. Sometimes I hate them all, the whole sanctimonious shitload of ‘friends.’

  _ “I thought of all the all the struggles we went through. And how I lost me and you lost you. I’ve been trying to get down to the heart of the matter.” ©D.Henley_

# # #

                                                                                                CH. II

Brian strode to the kitchen without a backward glance and grabbed two bottles of beer. He could do this. He was a pro at obfuscation. Fuck! He’d been doing it his whole life. He could do it now. But his forced self-confidence couldn’t silence the nagging questions in his head.

                           What the fuck is he doing here? He’s supposed to be in New York where he belongs, painting and fucking and  
 _forgetting._ And he has luggage! That means he’s...staying? How can he do that? Why does he want to? He can’t  
                           expect to fucking waltz back into my life and pick up where we left off! We can’t. It’s not possible. I can’t do it.  
                           I can’t go through it again.

He stalled with the drinks, needing time to regain control, and furtively watched the man wandering in the loft. Captivated by the simplicity of his actions, he hated feeling the hand brush against his chest as it glided over the sofa, hated the drum beat of nimble fingertips on his cock as they danced across the desk—and hated himself for reveling in the man’s presence.    

Unaware of the scrutiny, Justin roamed from surface to surface. With each touch triggering an explosion of memories, he tried to figure out why he felt what he felt. Exhausted from his mental and emotional rollercoaster of the past few weeks, he needed it to end. He had jumped off the cliff, daring to risk everything, and now? He was in a free-fall for his future.

_                                     “Catch me, I’m falling, flying head first into fate. Catch me, I’m falling, hurry before it’s too late.”  _ _ ©Yorkey,Kitt _  
                                                                                              * * * *                                                    
  **Can you really have your cake and eat it, too, if you knew the slightest mistake meant you get nothing, not even a crumb? Are you willing to risk the whole cake for one slice? **

After a forceful exhale, Brian began the longest journey of his life. His bare feet stirred wisps of dust, each uneasy step heavy with the knowledge that any lapse in judgment, whether a misspoken word or a misunderstood look, could result in disaster. Despite the tightrope situation, he felt warmer, as if emerging from a cold sleep. He ignored the gloom and doom of his inner voice that warned him not to get too comfortable, too hopeful. He understood the pull, having heeded its warnings most of his life, anchored in the safe harbor of cool detachment. But to have any chance at all, the ship had to sail into uncharted waters.

Justin turned from his place by the window and studied the man walking toward him. He saw the kindness and strength he expected and an intimacy that made his blood boil, but lurking in the shadows was a sadness that plunged a knife into his heart. He wanted to scream in anger at the pain. He pledged to do everything in his power never to see that emotion on his face again.

                                                                              _BEATITUDES FOR BRIAN:_

                                      _Be not afraid as you walk toward unknown shadows, for I will be your guide._  
_Be not unseeing as you approach the mist of tomorrow, for I will be your eyes._  
 _Be not loath to admit failure, for I will accept you without question._  
 _Be not resistant to change, for I will understand and embrace._  
 _Be not scared to open your heart, for I will mend it if it breaks._  
 _Be not ashamed to shed your tears, for I will heal your hurt._  
 _Be not hesitant to take a leap of faith, for I will catch you._  
 _Be not fearful to love, for I will always love you more._

                                                                                        # # #                                                                                                        

                                                                                       CH. III

                           I feel as if I should say something, but I’m out of my depth here. I hope my hand says what I can’t. It hurts to  
                           see the purple smudges under his eyes and the strain around his mouth. Because I put them there. _Fuck!_ He  
                           makes a space better when he’s in it. His enthusiasm for just _being_ is contagious. He loves life. He’s hot,  
                           funny, smart, and was born to give head. Sex with him is like sex with no one else and now I know  
                           why. It’s not what he _does_ that makes the sex different, it’s how _I_ feel when he does it. I could have that again  
                           if he came back, if he stayed....

Brian knew what he was doing—deliberately brushing his fingers against Justin’s when he gave him the bottle, letting them rest longer than necessary—but he couldn’t explain why. He flinched at the palpable jolt of electricity, the truth of the touch far more exhilarating than anything his subconscious had imagined. He padded to his desk with a scowl, aimlessly shuffling papers until he decided it was time for questions and answers, regardless of the outcome. Careful not to let his voice betray him, he said, "So how's New York? Sell any paintings?"

The subtext wasn’t lost on Justin. After a much-needed swallow to silence the pounding in his ears, he gave an equally ambiguous answer. “New York _was_ okay. A few, not for much, though. It’s not as easy as—” He bit his tongue.

“So you decided to give up and return to the glory of the Pitts?” Brian couldn’t hold back his mockery. He had to fire the first shot. Choked by this latest turn of events, he flung the papers across the room. “Why the fuck are you here? Don’t you have some place else to go, to be?”

Justin ignored the outburst and drained the rest of his beer, placing the bottle on the glass coffee table without so much as a ping. For what seemed like an eternity, they stood on opposite sides of the room, contemplating each other in silence. Under different circumstances, he mused, they would have laughed at the standoff, considering Brian's fondness for classic movies. But this wasn’t a scene out of _High Noon_ and they weren’t Gary Cooper and Ian McDonald.

With an outward calm that belied the tension in his chest and the quiver in his stomach, he forced one foot in front of the other. Even the loyal bag of tricks—ominous brow, withering glare, clenched jaw—couldn’t stop him. He needed to keep his balance on this emotional tightrope, a feat made more difficult as Brian’s eyes darted around like a caged animal. The air crackled in gut-wrenching anticipation as he advanced toward his skittish colt, worried that the slightest exhale would push him over the edge and out of his life for good.

**                              “We advance on our journey only when we are confident and believe we are going to win.” ** O.S.Marden

                                                                                          # # #

                                                                                         CH. IV  

_                                  “When you touch me like this, and I kiss you like that, I just have to admit that it’s all coming back to me.” _

The scent of Brian’s cologne hurtled him down memory lane—to a night when he rashly went with a stranger who picked him up on a street corner, when he took those terrified strides toward a naked man who waited for him to make the first move, when he subliminally knew their lives would be intertwined forever. Fueled by desperation, he doggedly closed the gap and placed a cautious hand on the black shirt. Drunk with power when the heartbeat sped up, he opened the buttons with shaking fingers and smoothed it from the tense shoulders, letting it sail weightlessly to the floor. Enveloped in a toe-curling haze at the sight of exposed flesh, he flicked his tongue over his parched lips, shining them with spit, and rested his palm on the bare chest.

A hand shot out and snapped around his arm. He jerked his head up in panic. Everything about Brian’s body language screamed conflict, but the dark expression, so intense he thought he’d come in his pants, burned his face. A deeper intuition took over. He pinned him with a fixed gaze. “If I touch you again, are you going to push me away?” And he held his breath.

                          God, Brian! Don’t do this! I’m not that strong. I can be, but I don’t want to be, not if it means I have to  
                          pretend that I can live without you, because I can’t. I’d be living a lie. What did you say to Michael  
                          when he was at the Big Q? “It’s only lying if they make you lie”? Don’t do that to me. Don’t make me lie!  
 *** * * ***

**Will you give me time to figure who I am? Will you give me space to try, to be a better man? Will you give me strength to fail and power to learn? Will you wait for me? Will you be there when I return? **

Brian mentally recounted a litany of past transgressions, errors in judgment he believed would never allow him to have the one person who, after all this time, was still willing to risk it all _for him_. Long ago words returned to haunt him.

                          Face it, you’re afraid. Always were. Coward! Afraid to share your life. Afraid of the rejection, humiliation.  
                          Of the pain. No matter how much Justin proved that the risk was worth the reward, you pushed him away.  
                          It’s time, shithead. Either he’s back in your life or he isn’t. Decide what you want to do, where you want to be.  
                          It’s your call.

Sifting strands of hair through his fingers, the tickle of scented blond silk overwhelmed him with forgotten feelings. He gave an imperceptible shake of his head, grazing his knuckles against the ivory skin. “I could never make you stay. That’s why I had to make you go.”

With Justin’s face between his hands, he leaned in. Plagued by unsettling recollections of how that mouth responded to his own, it didn’t come close to the real thing. Without conscious thought, their tongues rekindled what had been lost but not forgotten. When he pulled away, his eyes conveyed an intimacy more passionate than any touch or kiss.  
                                                                                         * * * *  
Justin couldn’t speak. Any words would be filled with the emotions Brian so despised. Instead, he placed his lips on his throat, breathing him in like oxygen. When strong arms wrapped around him, he stifled a sob. If he died now, he’d die a happy man. He trailed an index finger along the angular jaw to the cupid’s bow. Tracing the outline, he drew in a sharp breath when a thumb massaged the pulse point on his wrist, then whooshed the air out when a mouth gently sucked on the vein.

Brian kissed him again and arched a quizzical brow. “Hey, why the tears?”

“I, you.... I didn’t—”

“You didn’t what?”

“I didn’t count on this happening.” He brushed a wayward hair from Brian’s forehead. “I went to bed every night wishing things were different, hoping they could be, but never believing they would be.”

“And now?”

His voice barely audible, he said, “I have hope.”

Brian frowned but didn’t appear to be put off by the admission, just determined. “Then I guess it’s up to me.”

“To do what?”

Brian’s lower lip disappeared between his teeth. “To make you believe.”

                                                                                             # # #                                                        

                                                                                            CH. V

                                                                                   DIALOGUE ONLY

“We have to talk before—”

“I know.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to call again or stay in touch.”

“Then why didn’t you? Was it because the sound of my voice cut you into shreds, like a knife piercing your heart, because maybe you realized this past year was a _total fuck up_?”    

“Don’t be a fucking twat!”

“I’m waiting, Mr. Kinney. Like always. So? Answer me.”

“You might have hit on a point or two in a round-about kind of way.”

“How about in more like a kill shot, between-the-eyes kind of way? You know how I know? Because that’s how _I_ felt the past 365 days. Remembering five fucking years of my life and never knowing when or if I’d ever have that again!”

“The past five years weren’t ones for the record books, Sunshine.”

“Walks down memory lane usually aren’t. You never remember things the way they were. You remember them the way you wish they were.”

“When did you become such a scholar?”

“I had a lot of time on my hands to think.”

“What about your painting? That was the whole idea, the reason why—”

“You pushed me to go?”

“I didn’t fucking push you! You had to go!”

“Did I? Or did I go because that’s what everyone told me I had to do?”

“Now who has the selective memory? In all the years I’ve known you, you never played follow the leader. If we’re laying cards on the table, it’s your turn. Be honest with me and yourself.”

“Okay, maybe you’re right.”

“Maybe in a ‘kill shot, between-the-eyes kind of way’? Is it so hard to admit that living and painting in New York excited you, that you wanted to see if everyone’s bullshit about your talent was deserved, that you needed to prove it to yourself?”

“But—”

“No buts! Listen to me. If you didn’t go to New York, there would have been a fucking wall between us. There’s no way in hell we would have made it. We treaded quicksand for five years. Any resentment would have sucked us under for good. And that’s the definite kill shot!”

“When did _you_ become such a scholar?”

“You’re not the only one who spent the past year thinking.”

“You were already giving it up, you know. Even though you didn’t realize it.”

“Giving what up?”

“Your wild and wicked ways. When we met, you were getting tired of it. I just sped things up.”

“You and your virgin bubble butt.”

“Would you still have picked me up if you knew?”

“That you were underage?”

“Yeah and also—”

“That you hadn’t had the pleasure of a dick up your ass, _my_ dick, to be exact?”

“Brian!”

“Fuck, yeah!”

“Why?”

“Angling for compliments?”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t have to angle for anything.”

“That confident? Okay, I’ll humor you. You looked lost and confused. Anyone could have done anything to you. It didn’t take a genius to see you weren’t legal, to know why you were there.”

“For the record, I’m glad it was you. So tell me, what else did you think about, in addition to our untimely demise by the ‘quicksand of our lives?’”

“A bossy twat in my head kept yelling that having a ball removed was the least of my imperfections and if he wanted to leave, he had plenty of other reasons. I gave it some thought and decided I really would be pathetic if I denied myself years of pleasure from said twat’s ass because of a little pride.”

“Years?”

“Years.”

“I can live with that.”

“Good to know.”

_ “Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road. Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go. _  
                          _It’s something unpredictable, but in the end it’s right. I hope you have the time of your life.” _ _ ©BJA  
_

                                                                                             # # #

                                                                                            CH. VI

 Justin decided they had talked enough. They could work out details later. Now? There was a fire in his gut. He stroked Brian’s arms and shoulders with shaky hands, reacquainting himself with the man whose image had seared his brain the past year. When firm muscles trembled under his touch, he sniffed the aroused skin like a dog in heat. “God, I missed this!”

His stubbled chin scraped across dusky nipples, stiffening them to pebble hardness. Delirious with lust at Brian’s animalistic growl, he tapped down a hysterical bubble of laughter and grazed them again. After soothing the fleshy nubs with his tongue, he latched on to one while rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger.

“Justin!” A guttural sound rose from Brian’s throat.

His tousled head angled up, eyebrows raised so high they disappeared under the blond fringe. “Hmm?”

                                                                                              * * * *

Brian squirmed as the glossy lips sucked contentedly. _Jesus Christ!_ If he didn’t stop this, he’d come like a hormonally charged teenager.

“This isn’t feeding time, Sunshine,” he said through gritted teeth. He eased him away, careful that his tit didn’t leave with the rosebud mouth.

Justin dropped to his knees. “Oh, yes it is!” He impatiently yanked the designer jeans to the floor—and stared.

Blood hammered in Brian’s temples under the weight of the fiery gaze, his cock showing its appreciation by inching up and out. He bizarrely pictured them taking their act on the road. Who needed snakes or flutes when you had ‘Justin Taylor, ~~Snake~~ Cock Charmer Extraordinaire?’ When an eager tongue poked out for a taste, he shivered and his head drooped against his chest. They weren’t going to last.

“Enough!” With a handful of blond hair and a fistful of fabric, he hauled him up. “We’re not doing this here, like this!” He kicked one leg, then the other from the pooled fabric and half-dragged, half-carried Justin to the bed.

Driven by the repetitive plea, _fuck me, fuck me_ , _fuck me, he_ stripped off Justin’s clothes with the skill of an expert magician, tumbled him onto the mattress, and flipped him on his stomach. Spellbound by the sight, he resisted the urge to spread him wide and feast on the delicacy. They were too close. This one had to be fast. Nerves sent the first condom sailing across the room, prompting a string of curses and a swift smack to a wriggling ass when he heard a strangled chuckle.

“Ow! What the fuck was that?” Head pillowed on one arm, Justin reached back and massaged his stinging flesh. Another slap made contact with the other cheek. “Double fuck! Christ! If I knew we were gonna play right from the start—”

He straddled him and whispered in his ear, his breath an erotic tickle. “Little boys who are about to get fucked within an inch of their lives should have better manners.”

“God, do it! Fuck me!”

He snaked the head of his cock into the narrow opening and stilled. Encouraged by Justin’s slight wiggle, he slid in further, inch by slippery inch. The reflexive clench-and-relax of muscles burned his dick, testing his control. “Jesus! You’re so fucking tight!”

They both groaned when he stopped, buried balls deep at last. With naked flesh against naked flesh stoking the fire, he thrust his hips in a primal rhythm that filled the loft with grunts and moans. When their fingers interlocked, Justin stiffened, an animal cry erupting from his throat, and spilled his release between them. Pushed over the edge, Brian’s orgasm ripped through him like a freight train. Panting and shaking from the intensity, he didn’t know if he was trying to hold on to Justin or his own soul. They couldn’t get enough, each fuck deeper, more meaningful than the one before, as if making up for lost time.

**One moment in time, suspended in breathless wonder, turns your world upside down and re-adjusts who you are. It redefines you, bonding all that went before with all that is now and all that will be.**  

                                                                                        * * * *

With his physical need blunted, Justin stretched like a contented cat and cushioned his head on the make shift pillow of Brian’s stomach. His fingers scrolled imaginary circles on the golden skin as he reflected on what had happened, wanting to freeze the memory in time’s photo album.

Unable to ignore the wispy touches, Brian pried his eyes open and stared at the ceiling to collect his thoughts. For the past year, he had wished for a chance to right the wrongs that mattered and now that it was here, he didn’t know what to do or how to do it. Shifting their position, his front against Justin’s back, he linked their fingers and feathered butterfly kisses on the ivory neck. If pressed, he would freely admit the gesture was a partial diversion to postpone the inevitable. Although he regretted not being able to see the honesty on Justin’s face when he answered, he also was grateful the blue eyes couldn’t see the panic on his own.

** The magician smiled at his reflection—a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless—and shrugged. He hung his weathered hat on the rusted hook and forced emotional footsteps never remotely imagined to propel him away. It was time. **

He summoned the miniscule amount of courage he possessed and asked the question that hung between them, the one that terrified him the most. “Are you staying?”

Justin tried to swallow past the growing lump in his throat but couldn’t. He also tried to blink away the burn in his eyes, but he couldn’t do that either. All he could do was pull Brian’s arms tighter around him and nod.

Brian let out a long breath. He decided it was time and confessed, “I can’t lose you again.”

They lay securely entwined in each other’s arms, the only sound in the loft, their gentle and relaxed breathing. Having finally exorcised their individual and collective demons, they heard it, too—the blissful nothingness of silence.

“I don’t care, you know,” Justin murmured.

“Mmm?”

“I said I don’t care.”

“About what?”

“About forever.”

Brian nudged him closer with a smile _.“But **I** do.”_

_“If a man could be two places at one time, I'd be with you.Tomorrow and today, beside you all the way._  
                          _If the world should stop revolving, spinning slowly down to die, I'd spend the end with you_  
                          _ and when the world was through, one by one the stars would all go out, you and I would simply fly away.”_  


                                                                                     THE END

   


End file.
